


Dig Us Out From This Slumber

by stepquietly



Category: Practical Magic (1998)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepquietly/pseuds/stepquietly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about magic is its simplicity, the way it cleaves to us in our smallest moments.</p><p>Or, a melding of four herbs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dig Us Out From This Slumber

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yalu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yalu/gifts).



> Thanks go to my amazing betas, and to the incredibly helpful website, A Witch's Herbal Reference: http://wicca.com/celtic/herbal/herbindex.htm. Title from Thao & Mirah's 'Hallelujah'.
> 
> Happy Yuletide, Yalu!

**_Marjoram_ **

Gilly can’t sleep. She’s tired and the room is cold, even with the blankets tucked in tight around her to keep her toasty warm.

She’s not really cold, but she just can’t fall asleep though she’s tried and tried. She flips over, tucks the edge of her face into the thin pillow that smells like old ladies. Aunt Jet insists that’s just walnut and lavender, but Gilly knows it’s more; the pillows smell like powder and creased hands, like the big hats that the Aunts wear when they go out in the sun. It smells like old ladies.

Gilly rather likes the smell, even though she’d never actually tell anyone that. It means waking up early and going to bed late, and all the chocolate cake she can eat and mint tea when her stomach hurts after. It smells different than she’s used to and she likes that; it makes it much easier not to think about their old home, or the way Daddy was just gone and Mommy wouldn’t talk to them after, just wanted them to go upstairs so she could talk to the Aunts. Then she went to her room and went to sleep, and Gilly and Sally and Aunt Fanny and Aunt Jet tried and tried but she just wouldn’t wake up anymore. And then she was gone too, just like Daddy.

She can see the outline of Sally’s back across the room, the slow rise and fall of her chest and the way she’s keeping her eyes shut even though Gilly knows she’s wide awake. Sally never sleeps on her back.

Sally won’t play anymore. Not even when the aunts let them take off all their clothes at night and dance barefoot in the woods near the house, or when Gilly dares her to race home, running quick through the streets from school where everything is dull and boring to the house where they get to throw all their books down and do cartwheels and lie in the sun. She won’t even come exploring when Gilly wants to see what’s in the cupboards in the corner of the attic. Sally doesn’t want to do _anything_ anymore.

When Aunt Fanny asked her why she was sad, she’d said she wasn’t sad, she was angry. But Gilly knows Sally’s angry and this isn’t it. When Sally’s angry she screams and bites. But she’s just lying on her bed all the time and so now she doesn’t smell like they normally do, she doesn’t smell like grass or bugs or cake. Sally just smells like old lady now and it’s scaring Gilly. Scares her enough that she’s been creeping from her bed into Sally’s to hold her hand at night, to keep her here and not away wherever Sally wants to go.

Gilly creeps over to huddle into Sally’s bed, tangles up their hair and toes like always and pulls one of Sally’s hands into hers. Sally isn’t squeezing back the way she’s supposed to, though. She just lets Gilly hold her hand and doesn’t open her eyes, like she’s pretending Gilly isn’t there.

Gilly whispers, “Sally.” It’s stupid to be so scared. Sally’s right here! “Sally, wake up. Wake _up_!”

Sally doesn’t open her eyes at all.

Gilly kicks her.

Sally’s face screws up in annoyance but then it smoothes out. She still won’t open her eyes. Gilly tries pinching her.

“ _Ow_!”

“Wake up, Sally!”

“ _What_?”

Gilly doesn’t know. She doesn’t know why Sally needs to be awake, just that she does even though Gilly is so, so sleepy. So she shakes Sally awake and tells her all the made up stories she can think of, and the way Aunt Fanny insists that there are fairies just outside the doorway of their house, to the fact that they should find out how to turn mean Sara from school into a toad.

In the morning, Gilly’s eyes are red and scratchy and her throat is sore, and Sally still isn’t squeezing back even if she’s got her eyes open.

Gilly’s tired and scared even if she can’t say why, and when Aunt Jet comes to wake them up for school, Gilly can’t stop herself from bursting into tears even though everyone says she’s a big girl now.

“Gilly? For heaven’s sake, why are you crying, child?” Aunt Jet sounds mad and that just makes Gilly cry harder, makes her tuck herself further into the space between her and Sally. “Gilly?”

“Sally won’t hold my hand,” Gilly whimpers.

There’s a pause where Gilly squeezes her eyes shut tight and tightens her grip on Sally’s hand, sure that Aunt Jet is going to be mad. But then there’s a long sigh. “Well, there’s no point in the two of you going to school like this, is there?” Aunt Jet sighs. “Gilly-Bean, go get your breakfast now, dear. I’ll take care of Sally until you get back.”

Gilly isn’t sure she should leave but Aunt Jet looks really serious, so she squeezes Sally’s hand once and goes downstairs to where Aunt Fanny is making flapjacks.

“Aunt Jet said we don’t have to go to school today,” Gilly tells her, still sniffling while she pulls a chair up to the table.

“Of course not, dear. You’ve had a hard night already, so maybe staying home just for today will be good for you. Lots of rest though, hmmn?” Aunt Frances puts a big plate in front of Gilly and smiles at her, pauses long enough to lean in conspiringly. “I’ll bet you can eat everything on that plate and on the plate I made for Sally too.”

Gilly smiles and wipes her face. Aunt Fanny is nice.

She’s almost done with most of her breakfast when she can feel it again, that feeling from last night. She scrambles to her feet and races up the stairs because _Sally_ , Sally _needs_ her. Sally needs to hold her hand. Sally can’t sleep right now.

But when she gets to the door, Sally’s not asleep. She’s screaming and kicking at Aunt Jet.

“ _I hate you_ ,” she screams, and Gilly flinches back to the doorway. Aunt Jet’s face is angry, like she wants to hit Sally, but she doesn’t. Gilly wouldn’t let her even if she’s scared. Even if they have to go away to somewhere else.

“I hate you and _I hate her_!” Sally screams. She sounds like her throat hurts. “She didn’t have to leave us. She _didn’t_.”

“No, she didn’t,” Aunt Jet says, and Gilly’s nervous because she sounds so angry too. “She didn’t. And it was cruel and it was selfish.”

Sally goes limp then, stops kicking and fighting. It’s like Aunt Jet just holds her up by her hands because Sally’s crying so hard now.

“It was selfish, child. Your mother loved your father so much that she didn’t just say she would die for him; she actually did. And she left you girls behind.” She gathers Sally up and kisses her head while Sally cries long, hoarse sobs into her neck. Without even looking up, she puts her hand out and beckons Gilly into the room. And Gilly goes, grabs Sally’s hand tight and bursts into tears herself when Sally finally squeezes back.

“It’s a selfish thing, to die for love,” Aunt Jet says as she rocks the two of them. “Your aunt and I wouldn’t dare now that we’ve got the two of you. You can trust us on this, girls. You won’t come home to us in our beds, not for a good long time.”

“Everybody leaves,” Sally whispers, voice clogged.

“I won’t,” Gilly promises, fervent. “I’ll stay.” She wipes her nose with her hand and rubs it on the bottom of her shirt, huddles back in after. Aunt Jet squeezes them tight, kisses each of their heads.

“Right,” Aunt Jet announces after a minute, pushes them back. “That’s decided, then. Now both of you get some real rest and then I want you to come help me dance in the woods.” She looks at them sternly. “I won’t accept no for an answer.”

They both nod and climb back into the same bed. Aunt Jet pulls the covers up over them and examines each face. “We’ll put some tea bags on your eyes when you wake up. That’ll take care of that.”

Gilly smiles because the Aunts are the best. A holiday from school and no punishment, just dancing. She hugs Sally tight, and squeaks when Sally squeezes back just as hard.

“I’ll stay,” she whispers again when Aunt Jet has gone downstairs and the room is silent. “I won’t leave you behind, I promise.”

“Okay,” Sally finally whispers.

*  
“Are the girls all right?” Frances asks, and pours them both a shot of rum.

“We’re drinking in the mornings now. Clearly we’ve got children in the house,” Jet deadpans and slugs the shot back. It burns the back of her throat satisfyingly.

“The poor darlings.” Frances’ voice is sad. “Maybe we should gather more marjoram? We can add more to the soup and maybe keep a pot in their room for the next while.”

“It didn’t do their mother any good,” Jet snaps before she can help herself. Her nerves are still frayed from the scene upstairs. The last few months have been hard on her heart.

Frances says, voice soft and gentle, “But she didn’t want to get better, did she?” Her face is sad, pitying. “She couldn’t see a life where it was just three of them instead of four.”

“It was selfish, is what it was,” Jet snaps out.

“It was,” Frances agrees. “If it helps, I think the worst has passed now. We’ll be the four of us for a while instead.” She tips back her own shot.

Jet's face crumples for a second before it goes straight again. She brushes her sleeves off, matter of fact, "All right. We’ll get more for the child tomorrow. And a pot for their room."

Frances reaches her hand out across the table and Jet automatically puts her own out to squeeze it.

“Of course, dear.”

_Marjoram: Magical attributes: protection, love, healing. Add to all love charms, place a piece in rooms for protection. Give to a grieving person to bring them happiness._

* * *

 

**_Mugwort_ **

The day isn’t particularly hot but Frances is glad that she brought her umbrella with her. Every so often the sunlight hits the lace edges perfectly and plays a pretty pattern of shade over her face and dress, and she’s still woman enough to appreciate the sly wink the grocer throws her when his wife isn’t looking. She winks back, coy, regardless of the fact that he’s nearly two decades younger than her and happily married.

“Hello, Mrs Swinton,” she calls out cheerfully as she notices the woman forcibly dragging her husband and two children across the street. “It’s a fine day, isn’t it?” Mrs. Swinton just glares and clutches her family tighter and shoves them onto the other sidewalk.

“She’s an odd duck, isn’t it?” Jet opines, watching them flee. “I’ve never seen a woman as fond of a frown as that one.”

“Maybe it’s because her husband fits her dresses so much better than she does,” Frances says, keeping her voice low and her smile steady while she waves at them.

“Dear lord, is that Matthew? Matthew, you old goat, how are you still alive?” Jet laughs when Matthew doffs his hat, hands shaking and arthritic. “We must make him up a little something for that back of his,” Jet muses.

“We’ll need more rowan for that, dear. We’re running low. And the honey too,” Frances reminds her. “Peg, what a pretty dress,” she calls to a girl across the street, then whispers lower to Jet, “pity she can’t keep it on for longer than a minute around Billy Pine. That boy’s trouble if there ever was any.”

“Now, now, Fanny,” Jet laughs, “you’re hardly one to throw stones at that particular house. Need I remind you of Gregory Pine?”

Frances laughs, amused. “Oh dear, I’d all but forgotten him. I wonder where he even is now?”

“Knowing him, probably on Wall Street. Out counting people’s money and keeping more than he gives back.” Jet shrugs and adjusts her umbrella.

Frances shakes her head fondly. “You always were too hard on him.”

“He did leave his mother high and dry, didn’t he?” Jet fires back. “Hello, darling,” she calls out to Chrissie Preston, and laughs when she drops a quick curtsey. “I rather like Chrissie,” she muses aloud, “she’s got spunk.”

Frances waves as well, amused when the girl waves back and blows them a kiss. “Hardly. The Pines take care of their own.”

“That they do.” Jet agrees. “And it’s not as though we don’t have our own wanderers. Gillian’s been raring to go ever since she turned fifteen and realized that a certain reputation did more good than bad with the boys.”

“Now, Jet!”

“You know I’m right, Fanny.” Jet’s voice is gruff and her lips are pursed tight, for all that her tone is matter of fact.

Frances nods and tightens their intertwined elbows. She pauses before saying, hesitant, “we’ll have to pretend to be shocked tomorrow, when Gilly leaves us.”

“I know,” Jet snorts. “That girl’s got itchy feet. Can’t keep still a minute these days. She’ll end up running all over the world before she realises that she’s just running from herself. ”

“Oh, hush now, Jet,” Frances soothes, “She just needs to go away to know that she can always come back. You, of all people, should know what that’s like.”

Jet smacks Frances’ arm. “I _knew_ you still held Daniel against me!”

“Oh, come now.”

“Don’t lie to me, Fanny. And remember what I told you then: sometimes love requires a change of scenery.”

“What change?” Frances scoffs, “You barely moved across the mainland. You came back every weekend.”

“Regardless,” Jet insists, “our Gilly’s hardly moving for love.”

“Perhaps not yet,” Frances agrees, and they continue their walk.

*  
When they get back to the house, Frances takes off her hat and her shawl, leaves the umbrella in the caddy by the door before she makes her way through the house and to the greenhouse. She walks amongst the potted pimpernel and rose bushes, past the rosemary and the thyme, to the mugwort with its small serrated green leaves and pretty pink flowers. She plucks off a few of the leaves, taking care to gather them from close to the stem, and only those that are fresh and unfurled. She wraps them in her handkerchief for the rest of the day, places it in the V of her dress close to where her heart beats.

That evening, when Gilly and Sally plot, so sure that neither Aunt knows of Gilly’s plan, she takes them from where they’ve been resting over her heart, warmed by her skin and blood, and slips them carefully in the fronts of Gilly’s sneakers.

“Come home safe when you’re done,” she whispers. “You’ve quite a journey ahead of you, Gilly-Bean.”

_Mugwort: Clairvoyance, psychic dreams, astral projection, protection. Place in the shoes for protection and to prevent fatigue on long journeys._

* * *

 

_**Mullein** _

Sally hasn’t practiced in years but she still can’t shake certain habits. Everything she has planned for her store reminds her constantly that she hasn’t forgotten, even if she doesn’t use anything in her care for conjuring. She mixes rosemary with lavender for soothing bath salts; has a sensual range of skincare products with orange, caraway and orris root, blends dill and dandelion for a digestive tincture; and adds comfrey and lemon to a body spray to keep insects away and soothe bites.

It’s second nature now to recommend peppermint for someone’s headaches, anise for a sleep aid, vervain for when someone mentions a job interview. When she opens her own store, she plans to leave sprigs of holly in a bowl for people to take if they choose.

 _It’s not practicing to use herbs for their known properties_ , she comforts herself. She doesn’t like to think of the way women from the town still won’t meet her eyes when Michael’s not around, despite being so very willing to buy scents of rose, jasmine, gardenia from her stall at the local market last year.

 _They’ll pay double that price now_ , she thinks with a thrill of vindictive satisfaction, as she looks around her store.

That little tremble of vindictive satisfaction stays with her through dinner with Michael and the girls, through doing the dishes and checking homework. It persists through a load of laundry, and a chapter of her book after the kids have gone to bed.

When it’s still lurking like a niggle in the edge of her smile later that night as she takes off her makeup, she frowns.

“I’ve got to go to the shop,” she tells Michael as she wakes him up to kiss him goodbye. “It’s just something I have to do.”

“Okay,” he slurs, half-asleep. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” she says, already throwing on a coat and grabbing her wallet, her keys. “You’ve got an early day tomorrow. I’ll handle this.” She’s out the door without waiting for his response.

She walks the four blocks to the edge of town, climbs the hill to the house, and uses her key to let herself into the greenhouse.

Even the crickets are silent that night, as Sally tiptoes around the edge of the potting section to fetch up a bucket, some sponges, and gloves suitable for scrubbing floors. She has to look about for a while, squinting in the light of the waning moon, to find the mullein growing fat and yellow in large pot over by the corner of the room.

She gathers up her stores and takes great care to shut the door gently on her way out. The walk back to town is faster, despite the fact that she’s weighed down with a bucket of equipment.

 _It’s not practicing_ , she tells herself, and fills the bucket with warm water, sprinkles in the mullein and sets it to stir.

 _It’s not_ , she assures herself over and over, and washes the shelves, the floors, and the glass windows until she doesn’t feel that curl in her smile anymore.

_Mullein: Courage, protection from evil spirits, cleansing of ritual and psychic places before and after working there, cleansing and purifying ritual tools and altars._

* * *

 

**_Myrrh_ **

Sally wakes up and immediately knows that Gilly is gone. But that’s all right, she’s okay now. She just needed a reminder for the night.

She climbs out of bed and shuffles into her robe and belts it, all while ignoring the dull shine of the ring on her finger. She can’t think about it now, so it’s just going to have to wait until later.

 _I’m turning into Scarlett O’Hara_ , she thinks, slaps a hand over her eyes and giggles.

The house is quiet as she makes her way downstairs. The big grandfather clock at the bottom of the stairs lets her know that it’s a little past ten, which goes some way towards explaining the lack of noise; the girls must be at school.

“There you are, dear,” Fanny greets her when she shuffles into the kitchen, making a beeline for the cup of mint tea steaming on the table. “We were starting to worry.”

“ _You_ were starting to worry,” Jet snaps, “I knew she’d be fine. We Owens women are made of sterner stuff.”

“I’m sorry to worry you,” Sally mumbles dutifully, and lifts her cup, takes a deep breath like always in the pause before her first sip. The tea is hot on her tongue, and she can taste a tinge of basil in there. It makes her smile, the small thoughtfulness of it.

She leans over to rest her head on Fanny’s shoulder, whispers, “Thank you” and tries not to let this feeling of safety and warmth overwhelm her to tears.

Fanny pats her head gently. “Always, my dear. It’s what we’re here for.”

Sally sniffles a bit and pulls herself upright, pushes the feelings away for later, and allows herself to have one more cup, just to wallow in the taste of it, the way it pushes the stale taste of sorrow from her mouth.

Fanny and Jet bustle about doing whatever it is they do. Sally tries not to look too closely; the aunts are always prone to mischief and she could really use the haven they’ve offered right now. She can’t afford to see anything that might make her change her mind.

When she’s done, she gently places her cup and saucer in the sink and climbs the stairs to her room again. She needs to crawl under her sheets again, just for a few hours. Not to mourn this time, or to whisper secrets with Gilly, but to sleep deep and dreamless while she can, before she has to wake up to the rest of life without Michael.

She tumbles into bed, robe and all, and pulls the pillow to her, hugs it tight against her stomach where the tea sits warm and the grief still aches. Then she closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, the afternoon is shading into evening and there’s a small bottle on her nightstand with a note. She sits up, curious, and uncorks the bottle, sniffs its sharp scent quickly before putting it aside. The note under it has the elaborate curls of Fanny’s writing.

 _Sweetheart_ , it says, _you might use this to help with your breath. We wouldn’t want to set a bad example for the children now, would we?_

Sally stares at it for a long second, and then another. Then she finds herself giggling, incredulous, before the giggles turn into full blown gales of laughter.

*  
Downstairs, Fanny hears the echoes of Sally’s cackles and smiles to herself as she stirs more marjoram into the soup.

_Myrrh: Purifying and protective incense for ritual areas and consecrating tools. Excellent insect repellent and as a tincture, it is good for bad breath and gum problems._

* * *

 


End file.
